Time Enough For Tears

-----------------------------------------------------
Chapter One- I Never Loved You Anyway

-----------------------------------------------------

To say it had been a really rough day would have been an understatement. I had bruises and scrapes on both my knees, my elbows were scraped and bleeding, and there were grass shavings in my hair. I really needed a doughnut.

I consoled myself with the fact that Harold Lipinski was safely back in jail, probably being bonded out again by Vinnie, my weasel of a cousin. Convicted of smacking around his wife and his two kids, my wallet was considerably fatter and a dangerous man was off the streets. I hadn't even lost a pair of handcuffs. That was more than enough cause for Butterscotch Krimpets.

That decided, it took me mere nanoseconds to reach my apartment. It was a wet, rainy, icky Jersey day, and the gray sky was more than a little depressing. I took the elevator up, noticing the lack of Mrs. Bestler. It was a little early yet for her to be calling floors in the elevators, I supposed.

The little red message light on the machine was blinking. I pushed the button, and Morelli's voice bit out two curt words: Call me.

Great. That meant he'd heard from the station the state I'd been in when I'd dragged Harold in. Which in turn meant I'd get to hear for the hundredth time that I needed to either get a new job or make a decision. Quitting my job for a man was out of the question solely on principle. The 'decision' wasn't one I was ready to make. Not yet, at least.

I dropped a grape and a raisin into Rex's cage, smiling as he rushed out of his soup can, blinked his shiny, beady eyes at me, stuffed the food into his cheek pouch, and scurried back into his can. I suppose that was a pretty good greeting for a hamster.

Morelli was more difficult. I loved him, but probably not in the way required to have a steady relationship. Much less a marriage. He wanted me to change, to get a new job, do something less dangerous. Not that I hadn't evaluated the idea of another job many times. It was just that he wanted me to change. If he couldn't accept me for who I was and what I wanted in life then it wasn't really me he wanted.

Satisfied with that resolve, I picked up the phone and dialed Morelli's home number.

"Talk," he said, not sounding happy at all. Probably been working. Of course, chances were also great that I was the reason he wasn't that happy.

"Hi, there," I said, putting on my happy-perky voice. "I just got your message and wanted to say hello."

Silence. Either he was really angry, or really surprised at my greeting. I hoped it was the latter.

"So, um, maybe I could bring over a pizza? I'm sure Bob wouldn't mind."

That at least forced him to talk. "Yeah, pizza is fine. We need to talk."

"Sure, I'll see you in an hour."

Disconnect.

I frowned at the phone. That was strange. Usually, there was more cheer in his disconnects than that.

Pushing that to the back of my brain, I had just enough time to shower and change clothes before going over to Joe's. I really needed to get the grass shavings out of my hair. And there was a slight chance of infection due to the dirt and gravel in the scrapes on my elbows and knees. They would be sore tomorrow. No naughty-nasty for me tonight, that was for sure.

Forty minutes later I emerged from the bedroom, feeling considerably more human than before. I'd managed to get my hair dried, not bothering with gel, and had added a little mascara to complete my almost-together ensemble. Jeans, boots, and my signature t-shirt completed the image. Stephanie Plum, Wonder Woman stand-in.

Almost.

I picked up the pizza from Pino's and made the drive to Morelli's house. It had been left to him by his Aunt Rose but was slowly coming under the influence of Morelli's style. It was now also occupied by a very large, reddish brown-haired dog named Bob, who thought the four major food groups were furniture, Chinese food, doughnuts, and Pino's pizza. The veterinarian said he was getting fat, so we tried to keep him from three of the four. Furniture was hard to doggie-proof.

Joe answered his door and gave me a brief, one-syllable "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." I put the pizza on the kitchen counter and pulled a beer from the refrigerator. Joe didn't. Something was definitely up.

I hitched one hip up on the counter and grabbed a slice of pizza, trying my best to act nonchalant. The problem is, Joe's been in my life since I was very young. He taught me how to play Choo-Choo. A part of me will be very upset if this conversation goes the way I think it's going to. When Morelli answers the door that way the conversation can only deteriorate.

"You said we needed to talk?"

He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. Damn, he was sexy. I put that thought on the back burner for later scrutiny.

"I can't do this anymore, Stephanie." Stephanie, not Cupcake. Yeah, he was pissed alright.

"What do you mean, 'you' can't do this anymore?" Great, it was going to be one of those chauvinist debates. I was really not in the mood for this. I just put a wife- and child-beater in jail, and now I get to deal with Joe and his feelings on my job and how I needed a new one. This was a tired, old argument, and one that never got resolved. I was unwilling to make that sacrifice for him, and he was unwilling to let it go.

"I'm tired of getting phone calls saying you look like you've been in a fight with a Pit Bull. I've got acid reflux, and I drink Maalox by the gallon. You're never safe, I never know where you are or what you're doing, and you never listen to me. You need a new job."

I gritted my teeth and tried to suppress my anger. "We've been over this before. I happen to like my job." Sometimes. "And where do you get off telling me how I should live my life?"

Joe shook his head, clearly disgusted. "This is what happens with us when we're together. We fight."

"Maybe because you're being a chauvinist asshole, because I won't do what you want!"

Maybe I shouldn't have said it quite that way. But it was too late. I was on a good mad, and I didn't intend to be pushed around anymore. I'd already moved out of Morelli's house and ended things a few times because of this. Obviously, it was more important to him that I do what he wanted rather than have a relationship, or we wouldn't be here again.

And I told him just that.

"What! I love you dammit!" he all but roared at me. I was sure phones were ringing at my mother's house right this very minute. In the Burg news travels fast.

"You don't love me, Joe, you love the idea you've created of me," I said. It made me sad, because a big part of me loved Joe. Really. But, like I thought before, it was all too apparent that the ultimatum still stood.

I put my piece of pizza down, set the beer back on the counter, and faced him straight-on. "You want a quaint little housewife to come home to every day, a little woman barefoot in the kitchen. What next, Joe? Going to take away my car keys and keep me a prisoner in your fantasy, letting me out when you think I need sunlight? I don't think so."

I grabbed my pocketbook and keys, and headed for the door. "If you want a relationship with me, then you're going to have to accept the real me, like it or not. If that's too difficult for you…" I didn't finish my sentence.

I left. I had to before the tears became visible on my face.

I really hated fighting with Morelli. But I hated being ordered around even more.

Surprisingly, my indignant rage carried me all of two blocks before I had to put my Escape in park before I had an accident. I let the tears come for all of fifteen seconds before stiffening my spine. I was down to very small whimpers now, and felt pretty good about my self-control, considering I had pretty much put us on off-again status once more.

When Morelli's SUV rolled past me, I jumped, thinking he must have come looking for me. But he just kept on driving.

If I had been a cat, I'd have been killed already. I slammed the Escape into drive and began tailing him at a far distance. I could still see his taillights, so I would know where he was going.

When he whipped into the parking lot of the bar, I hit the brakes. I'd never seen him get angry enough that he went to a bar before.

I stayed in the car and watched him go inside. I stayed and waited what seemed like very long minutes. Surely he would come out soon.

Unless he was drinking. Heavily. Shit. He never drank heavily.

It was hard not to immediately go in after him and apologize. But this time I had nothing to apologize for. Hard as it was, I was at my end, and thisclose to calling us off-again permanently.

Forty-eight minutes later, I was really getting curious.

I crept inside, hoping Morelli wouldn't look at the door when it opened. There was a table in the back, and I took to Ranger's mode of surveillance: back to the wall, in the shadows. I wasn't sure that I pulled it off as nicely, but I was pretty much out of sight.

I spied Morelli at the bar. He was tossing back a shot of something amber, and evidence of a few more sat in front of him. I saw a slender arm reach out and touch his hand, and slid to the right to try and get a better view.

The slender arm led up to slender shoulders, slender neck, delicate face, and short blonde hair.

Terry Gilman.

What the hell? Why was she here? It slowly sank in that either this was one hell of a coincidence, or Morelli had called her.

Now I was really getting mad. But I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, last time Lula gave me the idea he might be cheating on me with her at some skanky motel it turned out to be a sting operation. No cheating involved. But he did smile at the thought of her in a thong. Maybe I would just hang around a few minutes longer.

Joe was just sitting there. It seemed he was saying something, but Terry didn't really seem interested in what was coming out of his mouth. It gave me time to realize what a big fat hypocrite I was, following him here. His relationship with Terry was probably not unlike my relationship with Ranger, my mentor and tormentor. Even though we'd been 'off' when we'd had our one night together, the sexual tension was still there. I couldn't deny it any more than he could. Of course, there were limits to our relationship now. We weren't getting anywhere because

Terry grabbed Morelli's hand and all but dragged him off his barstool, out onto the crowded dance floor. She had obviously just come from work. Dressed in a dark blue pinstripe suit, elegantly tailored to fit her feminine frame, she didn't exactly reek of 'barfly.' No, she came here for a purpose. This was not a chance meeting.

A fast song began, and she began dancing with Morelli. Then Morelli began dancing with her. I'd seen that kind of dancing pretty much up close and personal before.

Except I'd been naked.

Terry flashed him a smile of bright white teeth, a smile he didn't return. He was still angry, but Terry didn't seem to mind being used. The air-humping continued until I was sure I was going to choke on the rage boiling in my throat. Digesting this would take some time. We'd been in many arguments before, but he'd never done anything like this.

I could see the words 'off-again' flashing permanently somewhere in the back of my brain. I shoved them away for later contemplation.

Then Morelli wrapped both arms around Terry's waist, dragged her body hard against him, and crushed her mouth with his. Her arms greedily went around his neck, and they got very passionate about the whole thing.

Little black dots crowded in on my vision and clanging began in the back of my head. I ducked down under the table and put my head between my knees until the bells stopped, and stood up.

I walked over to Morelli's back and tapped on his shoulder. He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of me.

And I punched him right in the face.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000